Let The Games Begin
by betitanium
Summary: Everything turns into a blur and I feel myself falling. I open my eyes to find myself lay across the forest floor. I stopped running. I'm going to die. Rated T for violence, some strong language and death. Based upon The Hunger Games.


**I don't even know how long it has been since I have written anything for this site. Of course I still come on it almost everyday and read fics but there was always something blocking me when I tried to write anything. I know a lot of you are probably annoyed at me for not updating Memories in over a year and for that I'm really sorry but there are things I have been through in that time and I couldn't make writing my main priority. I love Memories and I hopefully will regain my inspiration for writing it but for now I'm focusing on this story, which is based on The Hunger Games which if you haven't read, go read it! **

**This story will not follow the storyline of The Hunger Games, it's not like the entire story just with some name changes. I've used the underline themes and ideas from the book but with my own little twist on it so there will be lots of turns and surprises. If you think you know what will happen then it probably won't! I really hope you will enjoy this story and feel free to pesture me about updating Memories as much as you want to!**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is owned by Suzanne Collins, any characters with the same name is simply by accident.**

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><p>"If we turn this another forty degrees... flick this switch... pull on this wire right here and... there you have it! Yumi? Yumi, are you even listening to me?"<p>

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of his voice, turning to look I remembered what he had been trying to explain to me all week. The strange contraption safely in his grip and a disappointment smile on his lips which I expect was a proud grin a few moments ago. Guilt for ignoring him hits me and I take my place next to him on the soft, moist grass. I sighed and apologised for not paying the attention I promised to him, "I just drift off, that's all" I explained, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them. I heard him take a deep breath and then a hand on my dirt covered boot. He was never one for physical comfort but then again, neither was I.

"It's okay," he said softly, "don't be sorry for being distracted, especially considering what day it is." his voice lowered to a mumble at his last words, an uneasy silence fell upon us. Sudden tears sprung to my eyes and I buried my head in my hands to stop myself showing this weakness in front of him, although I almost knew for certain that he knew what I was doing, we've known each other too long to recognise these body signals.

Today was dreaded by all, a day of pain, anger and grief. Today families would be ripped apart, parents screaming, siblings weeping. Today was reaping day.

Taking a shaky breath, I regained my composure and turned to the blonde haired boy sat beside me with a pained expression across his face, staring out into the misty morning. I reached down and gently took his hand in mine, his attention turned to me, "We'll be fine" I told him slowly, telling myself more than him, "we're going to be fine." He didn't reply, simple turned to look out to the hills again. I followed his gaze and realised what he was actually focusing on: a small outline of a tower in the distance. "What is that?"

"It's a communication tower" he smiled at my confused expression, "for televisions, telephones" he swallowed hard "the screens in the town centre." I pressed my lips together to stop a sound of disgust, "there's one exactly half way between every district. Just think about it. Beyond that tower is people just like us about to go through the exact same pain. Our lives are so different but we are all connected by this... monster"

I nodded and gripped his hand tighter, "It'll be midday soon, the fog is clearing fast." He mirrored my nod and began to stand, pulling me up with him and making sure I was steady on my feet. I didn't realise how shaky I really was until I lost my balance and almost hit the ground again. He simple smiled and playfully pushed me. With a giggle I pushed him back. Soon we were both laughing hard until we came to a sudden stop. The realisation hit us both. This may be the last time we got to laugh like this with each other. Maybe the last time we will laugh at all. Without a word we took off back to the town still hand in hand, with each step heavy and every breath filled with sorrow and dread. The streets were empty except for the occasional old street beggar but still they didn't ask for money or food, not even a glance as we slowly walked past. Eventually we reached his house, I could see the silhouettes of his parents and two younger sisters in the grimy window.

He reluctantly let go of my hand and turned to face me, I noticed for the first time the tears brimming his eyes, causing tears from earlier to make their return. He shut his eyes for about ten seconds and took a few deep breathe before opening them and clearing his throat, "I, um, I guess I'll see you in the centre then?"

"Yeah" my voice broke and I pressed my lips together, a habit I know realise I have picked up when I stop myself from speaking my mind. I wanted to tell him again that we would be fine but now that we're here, about to make our separate ways and not see each other until the reaping I can't tell him. No one knows what will happen. Instead my mind wants to tell him that there is a considerable chance that we will be chosen, that this might be the last time we will be together. But I can't. The only thing anyone has today is hope, I can't take that away from him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, resting my head in the crook of his neck and letting a single tear escape my eye. Only one, for him I tell myself. He returns the embrace and we stay like that until we hear a bell ring out. The signal bell. The warning. We let go of each other and I watch him walk into his house in silence. I stare at the wooden home for a few more moments and smile at the memories I have shared here over the years before making my way to my own home, located in the same poor area of our district. I approach a set of tiny houses stacked on each other, I think they were once called apartments years ago. My home is the one at the top, the smallest. Pushing open the wooden door and walking up the rotting staircase, I hear crying coming from three homes below us. My heart breaks at the sound. Amelia is only twelve. Her first reaping. For a second I find myself stood directly in front of their door, my hand resting softly on the cold metal handle. I want to be able to go in and comfort the scared girl but I know that nothing I could ever say would make it better. We're all subjected to the same fate. This is our life and nothing can change that. Wanting change is what turned the world we live in into what it is today.

I backed away from the sobbing and ran the rest of the way up the crooked stairs. I barely have to press against my door for it to fly open, I must remind him to fix those hinges, I make a mental note for when we come back from the reaping. If I come back a little voices whispered in the back on my mind. I quickly push that thought away as I'm greeted by my family. My father tentatively places his arms around me, my younger brother stands by my side with a slice of stale bread in his hands, offering it out to me. I decline and insist he eats it himself, it's only his second reaping and the shock hasn't yet settled. I don't think it ever will. My mother simply turns from her position at the broken window to give a blank expression before turning around again.

I barely have time to change my boots to a less comfortable pair of grey flats and my ash covered sweater to a thin faded blue jacket before another bell rings out. I feel my brother grip my hand tightly and bury his face into my side. The reaping is about to begin.

The town centre is packed with both children and adults, everyone is expected to be present but since the centre is very small, the whole experience in made even more uncomfortable. We all face a make shift stage and wait patiently for the proceeding to begin. I stand with the girls of my age and as I tilt my head I spot my brother on the other side of the centre, standing side by side with a group of young boys, too young. Turning my head further I spot my blonde haired friend already searching for me. We share a sad smile when he his eyes finally meet mine. "We're going to be fine" he mouths to me, repeating my earlier words. I feel a hint of safety as I see the words form on his lips. With his almost inhuman intelligence it's hard to not believe him. Hard but not impossible. Before I can mouth anything back to him we hear the sound of heavy boots and heels clicking on the wooden stage. We break our gaze and give our attention to the four figures now present. Three men; the mayor, the only victor from this district, and what appears to be a guard are taking their seats whilst a women dressed all in red, with almost orange skin and bright pink hair walks to the speaker.

"Welcome everyone!" she exclaims in a high, shrill voice, "Once again we are all gathered hear today to celebrate this years exciting and highly anticipated Hunger Games" I fight back the urge to roll my eyes, who does she think she is talking to? District one? She is expecting an applause that will never come. She clears her voice nervously and continues with her speech, "As you all _should _know, this is your district's one and only victor, Alexander Vicari!" Out the corner of my eye I see a young girl raise her hands to clap and another girl quickly stopping her. We don't clap. We never clap. Alexander simple lowers his head and directs his stare to the ground. "Oh, alrighty then" her tone is confused but masked by a sickening amount of glee. She must be new to this I decide in my head. "Each year as a punishment for the terrible revolutions that took place, one man and one women will be selected to take part in an annual event, a great event that will prove their strength and honour to their district" she finishes with a gleaming smile on her bright red lips. One man and women? I bite my lip in anger, no one who competes are men or women, just children. Children forced to play in these sick games for the amusement of others. To kill for entertainment. There's nothing honourable about it. "Well" she drags out the word and the urge to go up there and wipe that gleeful grin off her perfect little face is getting unbearable, "let's find out who will play in the 67th Hunger Games."

She struts over the a bowl placed on the left side of the stage, "ladies first" she giggles and I feel sick. Her hand plunges in and swirls around before grabbing onto a perfectly folded slip of white paper. She happily walks back to the podium and unfolds the paper. She smiles. And with a clear strong voice she says the two words I've been dreading my entire life.

My name.

There are no words for what I felt. I could feel the eyes of everyone burning into me as I began my path towards what was now my place on the stage. My brother cries ringed in my ears along with my father's shouts of protest. I only looked back once, at my mother. We locked eyes and she shook her head before grabbing my father's arm to stop him from running to me. Tears threatened to fall but I knew I couldn't let them be seen. I had to stay strong if I had any chance of getting through this alive. I must had taken longer than I thought to make it the place circled next the bowl which my name was pulled out from moments ago because the cheery, pinked haired women is already swirling her hand around in the bowl full of the boys names. I watched as she snapped out another slip of paper and practically skipped her way back. Clearing her throat again she read out the name.

My heart came to a sudden stop. No. Not him. It can't be him.

But it is.

My chest rises and falls in a broken rhythm as I watch him, my best friend, walk onto the stage, his body shaking as she smiles and greets him. We are both in complete shock and terror fills us both as the reality hits us hard. The strong charade we are meant to pull off breaks down into unfixable pieces as I race across the stage to embrace him. He holds me tight as we tremble against each other. His awkward knowledge of comfort alters as his lips press against my short hair and he whispers in my ear a single sentence that breaks the barrier I put between myself and the tears.

"We're going to be fine"


End file.
